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The barstool behind you scrapes callously as its metal legs are dragged, and a familiar rough sigh follows the sound.
“What a right fucking week I’ve had.”
You turn around, trying to conceal the mix of amusement and curiosity that threatens to break out over your face. Butcher loves to whine - it must be cathartic for him, after a long day of bashing heads together - but he never gives details if you seem too eager. He almost never gives details at all. He’s a tough one to crack, but you have more techniques to try. You focus on absentmindedly polishing a glass, just like you’d been doing before he came in.
“Trouble in paradise?” you ask, carefully casual.
“Ha-ha fuckin’ ha,” Butcher replies drily.
You set the glass down and lean over the bartop, still trying to look as aloof as possible without seeming totally disinterested. It’s a fine balance.
“Wanna tell me about it?”
You rest your chin in your hand for good measure, and Butcher smirks. Then he leans forward, his expression more serious, and practically brushes his nose up against yours, cocking his head to the side as he speaks.
“What kind of a fuckin’ question is that?”
He smiles again, and relaxes back into an upright position. You feel your heart miss a beat. Being so close to him, you could smell notes of his spicy cologne, and the faint taste of it lingers even after he pulls away.
“Things flow one way here.” He holds up a thick finger to illustrate his point. “I take information from you, and you get nothin’ but cold hard cash from me. That’s just how it works, luv. Always has, always will.”
Satisfied with himself, Butcher makes a show of putting his elbows up on the bar, arms relaxed and half-crossed, taking up space. And you pout. Not that pouting ever does any real good; he’s already seen through you, just like the two thousand other times that you’ve tried to get anything out of him. But, if Butcher gets to come into your bar and throw tantrums, it’s only fair that you get to retaliate.
“Speakin’ of,” Butcher continues. “Anything new?”
“Not much,” you sigh, going back to the task of putting away glassware. So much for your little theatrics. You lower your voice. “It’s been a slow week; not too many people around. Had a few low-level PR drones from Vought come by last Friday, but they didn’t have anything useful to say. You’d think that the two-for-one special on beer would have loosened them up a bit."
You look at him slyly, hoping that Butcher might crack a small smile, but he has no reaction.
“So, yeah. Nothing this time,” you finish, a little dejected.
“Course not,” Butcher grunts. It’s less aggressive and more tired-sounding. “What in the bloody fuckin’ hell do I even pay you for?”
He mutters the last part, looking off to the side with his head ducked down low, and you let him skate by without comment. It’s obvious that he is having a bad week, for whatever reason, and your soft spot for him seems to be acting up again.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
He looks up at the sound of your offer. Butcher isn’t exactly a typical customer, but… if you can’t sell what he came here for, you might as well sell him some booze. The suggestion of a drink seems to perk him up a little.
“Only if you’re buyin’, luv,” he replies.
You roll your eyes, but relent without giving him any more shit than that. Somehow, Butcher always seems to manage to walk away with more than his share of the deal.
“First one is on the house.” You nod. “What’ll it be?”
“Whiskey. Neat. And not none of that cheap shit,” he adds, eyeing you.
You can’t help but smile as you pull down a clean glass. As if you’d dare to give him bottom-shelf liquor. You have no desire to hear Butcher complain. Any more than he already does. Every time you cross paths with him. Although he’s a man of action at heart, it certainly doesn’t stop him from running his mouth over every mild inconvenience.
“You’re in luck, actually,” you tell him, stooping down to pull a small bottle from under the bar. “We just got this in yesterday. New brand; very fancy.”
You hold out the whiskey to him, and Butcher snatches it. He studies the label, twisting it slightly from side to side.
“Hm. Never heard of it,” he announces. “Better make it a double.”
You take back the bottle and sigh.
“Remind me exactly - why do I put up with you again?”
“Simple.” Butcher crosses his arms loosely and cocks his head at you. “It’s cause I keep your wallet stuffed right to the brim. Nice and tight, too.”
You swear that he winks, and it almost makes you lose your composure. At least Butcher is in a more jovial mood now. Although, he usually does manage to be, even when he’s actively bitching and moaning.
“This bottle costs more than a month’s rent,” you joke, tipping a generous pour of the amber liquid into his glass.
“And you, sweetheart, failed to provide intel,” Butcher reminds you. “As per your end of the deal. Eye for an eye, see? It ain’t just me fuckin’ you over. We’re two cunts, fuckin’ each other.”
You scoff and Butcher smirks, again. His little innuendos never fail to fluster you, but you’ll be damned if you let him know that. He raises his glass in a mock toast, then downs the drink in one swig.
“That’s bloody strong,” Butcher grunts, setting the glass down a bit rougher than necessary. He seems quite appreciative. “How ‘bout another?”
You pour him some more with a stern look, which does nothing to break Butcher’s smile.
“You’re paying for this one.”
He waves away your warning, and then quickly picks up the glass, bringing it back to his lips as your eyes trail up to watch him. You find it a bit harder than usual to tear them away.
Butcher hums, low and deep down in his chest, when he’s finished. You force yourself to move, turning your head and pretending to study the beer that’s on tap next to you. As you pointedly avoid his eyes, Butcher picks up the bottle of whiskey and looks at the label again.
“Pretty good shit,” he comments. “Might have to just buy the whole damn thing off ya.” He sets it down with a dull thump, punctuating his statement. “Well, I’ll be here then, drownin’ my sorrows, if y’need me.”
He pours himself more, and you silently give up on stopping him. At least he’s starting to slow down a bit. This time he takes only a small sip before setting the glass on the bartop. One finger drifts aimlessly over the rim as he nurses it.
You turn your attention to real patrons. There aren’t very many tonight; just a few guys in disheveled suits at the opposite end of the bar. You saunter over, smiling as you take their orders and make small talk. After a few minutes, you feel eyes on you, and glance over at Butcher, who looks suddenly uncomfortable.
You quickly excuse yourself from the men, walking back over to Butcher’s side of the bar. As you pass by, he grabs your arm.
“Oi – what the fuck’s in this shit?” he says, hissing the words out between tightly clenched teeth.
You jump at the feeling of heat on your forearm. Butcher’s whole hand is hot - blazing the second it touches your skin - and you’re shocked at the sheer force of his grip.
“What in the hell are you talking about?” you ask, taken aback.
His palm still smolders against you, gripping now even tighter, and the thought flashes briefly that he might actually burn you. It’s unnatural; no human body should be able to produce this much heat.
“Did you fucking put something in this?”
You glance down at the bottle of whiskey, following Butcher’s frenzied eyes. Beads of sweat stand out across his brow, and you watch as his jaw clenches.
“What? No!” you answer. “You just watched me open it; it was a new bottle. What’s going on with you, Butcher?”
“That’s what I’d bloody well like to know.”
His voice almost cracks, and you freeze. You’ve never seen Butcher like this before. Testy? Sure. Drunk? On at least one or two other occasions. But he doesn’t look drunk now. He looks nervous, and like he might jump up and run out of here any second. He’s always been so composed, even when he’s intoxicated, in his own flashy and semi-annoying way. Seeing him like this makes ice dance in your veins.
“What’s going on?” you repeat, whispering now.
“Fuck, if I told you, you’d rip me a new one.”
“What does that mean?”
Butcher smiles, despite the grimace of pain that accompanies it, and runs a hand over his face. The tortured smirk he gives you is enough to make your heart race, and the heat from his palm that’s still gripping your arm seems to pulse.
“You got a walk-in here, luv?”
“A what?”
“Walk-in freezer,” Butcher snaps, suddenly hostile. “A bucket of fuckin’ ice. A sink I can shove me whole bleedin’ head under.”
“Okay! Jesus, calm down,” you hiss. “Yes, there’s a cooler. It’s in the back, next to-”
Even before you’re done speaking, Butcher is up, out of his seat, and heading toward the big swinging doors marked “Staff Only.” You don’t have a chance to ask anything else in the instant before he’s gone, leaving you shocked as you stare after him.
Something is clearly wrong, but you still have no idea what. Puzzled at Butcher’s near-frantic exit, you pick up the whiskey and screw off the cap. Taking a whiff is like getting a slap to the face. It’s got cinnamon, smoky undertones, but something else wafts over top of it all. You can’t put your finger on what, but it’s wholly unlike any whiskey you’ve smelled.
Fuck.
Whatever is going on, Butcher seems certain that this is the stuff to blame. You’re hard-pressed to find any alternative, but it seems so hard to believe. How could a bottle of whiskey-?
The sound of the walk-in’s door slamming shut, followed by one very muffled curse, pulls you back out of your thoughts. It doesn’t matter right now what the cause is. What matters is finding out what’s wrong with Butcher, and figuring out what you can do for him.
Trying to rush without alarming the other customers, you fill up a clean glass with tap water, and follow the path Butcher took into the back room. The door to the cooler is closed, as expected, so you tug on the big metal handle, and gasp.
“Butcher!”
All at once, Butcher swears, you spill the water all over your blouse, and both of you slam the door shut.
Your face quickly blossoms with heat, temperature rising straight up from the pit in your chest. Butcher was-
“That is a health violation!” you yell at him, stopping yourself before you can finish your last thought.
But really, there’s no way that you can un-see him, hunched over facing a blank wall, one hand clenched hard and braced up against the cold metal, the other one wrapped tightly around his-
“What is going on here?!” you shout, wishing it would stop the heat that’s now sinking, down past your stomach and straight into your cunt. You do not need that particular distraction.
“Rather not go into details now, luv,” Butcher calls back. “Bit of a compromising position I’m in.”
Your whole world spins, as your brain desperately tries to replay images of Butcher, and you, just as desperately, try to push them away. You barely saw anything, you rationalize. Butcher was half turned away from you; he could have been doing literally anything. It only looked like he was…
Just as you manage to convince yourself that you somehow imagined the whole thing, Butcher lets out a rough moan. Along with the toe-curling, scandalous sounds that follow it, there is no question that you definitely did not imagine anything.
Butcher is jacking off in your refrigerator, and you hate just how much the idea turns you on.
“Butcher!” You slam your hand hard on the door, trying to muster as much authority into your voice as possible. “Get the fuck out of there, right now!”
“Think I might take a touch longer than that,” Butcher calls back.
Still, through it all, the sound of his slick skin keeps leaking out under the door. Why is he not stopping?
“Not too sure what that bloody drink did to me,” he continues. “But I’m gonna be here a while.”
Your feet are, foolishly, rooted to the spot. You know you should just walk away. No good can come from you standing here, listening to the sound of Butcher as he touches himself, just a few short feet away. And still you can hear him. His hand hasn’t stopped since you walked in; if anything, he’s moving it even more frantically now.
“Please just… hurry up,” you beg, defeated.
“I’m doin’ the best I can, luv. Might go a bit faster if you’d hop in with me.”
The half-empty glass is still clenched in your hand, and your fingers curl automatically. Tighter and tighter, until it seems certain to break. You can’t really believe what you just heard, but that doesn’t stop the words from traveling straight to the ache that’s still lodged in your center, mixing there devilishly with the heat. There’s a pause, which lasts only a few seconds, but feels more like eternity.
“Shit. Sorry, luv.” Butcher groans with a strained laugh. The sound of his voice like that does nothing to help your situation. “M’not thinking too straight.”
Your hand hovers just over the latch on the heavy door, hesitant.
“Mm, fuck,” Butcher whispers.
It’s not a word that you’re meant to hear. It’s also not “fuck” as in “fuck, I’m so sorry,” or “fuck, I can’t believe I just said that.” It’s a hot, breathy curse he can’t stop from repeating again and again, even as he tries to stay quiet. And it’s aimed at whatever sick fantasies are now running through Butcher’s head, while you stand there, inches away from his scandalous moans and even closer than that to accepting his invitation.
You open the door.
All of the fluorescent light vanishes behind you as you slip into the cold room, quietly fitting the latch into place. It’s just you and Butcher here in the dim blue-black, and your eyes take a moment to fully adjust. Butcher is holding your gaze when you’re finally able to make him out, panting with either exertion or lust; it’s too hard to tell which. He’s first to break the tense silence.
“What the fuck are you doin’ in here?” he asks.
You take a step closer to him, and reach out.
“Well… it sounded like you might need some help.”
You wrap your hand over his, where it’s shoved halfway under his waistband, and brush a thumb slowly across the head of his cock. It’s hard and unyielding under the soft skin, and your touch seems to send a rough shiver through both of you. But Butcher himself is far from unmovable. He surges forward, pressing your back against the wall and keeping you pinned there. Trapped between him and the biting cold metal, you stifle a squeak.
“I wouldn’t get too involved if I was you, luv,” he warns. “You sure you want to?”
In response, you wrap your fingers around him more tightly, and lean up to kiss his warm mouth.
Butcher’s reaction is instant, and intense. He forces himself in between your legs, practically lifting you up with the force as his hands find your thighs. The glass that you’re holding is knocked away, spilled and shattered across the smooth floor. Butcher’s lips snap off yours as he looks at the sound, and only then does he notice how wet your shirt is.
“The fuck happened to you?” he asks.
“Doesn’t matter,” you respond, already breathless.
“Yeah, well,” Butcher agrees, “don’t think you’re gonna be needin’ that anyways.”
He tugs at your shirt with both hands, popping open the buttons and sending them scattering along with the glass shards that now litter the floor. He doesn’t dare to slow down, and starts pulling on your bra, making you scramble to reach for the clasp in the back before he can destroy that, too.
“Jeez, calm down. Give me a second,” you chastise. Butcher’s hands are already wandering, grabbing you as you unclip the bra and shrug hastily out of your shirt.
“I tried to warn ya what you was gettin’ yourself into,” Butcher rasps. His forehead is pressed up against yours, the usual teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something much darker, as he wrestles the button that’s stopped him from tearing off your pants.
You don’t have a chance to respond, as his mouth finds your left breast. His tongue swirls the nipple up into a stiff peak and his teeth drag over the sensitive flesh, stealing away words as your lips part in a sharp gasp.
He’s made decent progress on getting you out of your jeans, shoving them off of your hips with more than enough force to bruise. You’re quick to shimmy out of your underwear, too, letting them pool at your knees as Butcher slots himself forcefully back between your legs. You hum, feeling him pressed up against you like that, your wetness dripping down onto his cock.
He ruts against you, straightening up to look down at you as he slides over your folds. Clearly your reaction doesn’t disappoint him, as he bites down on his lip at the noises that leave your mouth.
“Fuck, Billy.”
“That’s the idea, luv.” He smirks. “Fuck, I think maybe you did this on purpose. Got me on your mind a bit more than you like to admit, yeah?”
“Shut up, Butcher,” you hiss. Though the effect is significantly less intimidating when you tangle a hand in his hair, desperate for something to hold onto.
“Back to business now, are we?” Butcher taunts. “Don’t worry, sweetheart – you’re gonna be callin’ me something else by the time I’m done with ya.”
You bury your face in his shoulder as he starts to push in; just the tip is enough to make you lose a small piece of your dignity. And you only want to lose more.
“I can just leave you to take care of yourself if you’re gonna be so insufferable,” you threaten, despite the fact that you – and probably he – can now feel your pulse in your cunt.
Butcher sharply clicks his tongue as he leans down to whisper right next to your ear.
“Nah. You don’t got the choice no more, luv.”
The noise that comes out of your mouth as he sinks into you is sinful; half surprise and half desperate attempt to make him push harder. To give everything he can to you so that you can swallow him up whole. You need to feel him. And despite your sarcastic remarks, all you want is for Butcher to whisper more filthy things to you.
His hand comes up to wrap over your side and support you, one thumb trailing over your nipple that’s soaked with his spit. You jerk your hips, causing Butcher to laugh softly.
“Like that now, do ya?”
Just like it was at the bar, Butcher’s skin is still fiery; dancing over the goosebumps that now crisscross your whole body, thanks to the frigid air. Butcher himself appears totally unaffected. He’s like a furnace, and even in this dim light, you can see how his breath billows each time he thrusts into you.
He gives you almost no time to adjust, pumping his hips at a pace that has you wondering whether he’s this intense thanks to the whiskey, or if he’s just normally the type to fuck up against a wall until you can’t breathe. While you’re in the middle of contemplating, he pulls out of you.
“Fuck!”
The sound of him cursing like that is like music, but you’re confused. You’ve only just started, and yet Butcher is already gripping his cock, practically growling as he pumps recklessly into his hand, pressing his forehead against the cold metal behind you.
“Fuck.”
Labored breathing is the only sound that follows Butcher’s second curse, and you feel your own chest heave along with his.
“You didn’t- come inside me?” you ask, pausing to take a deep, much-needed breath.
“Well, fuck – was I supposed to?” Butcher shoots back.
“I mean…” You look up at him as he leans back to stare at your face, both of you still breathing heavy. “I wouldn’t have minded.”
“Fuck, luv – should’ve said something.”
Butcher takes his fingers, still covered and dripping with his own cum, and shoves two of them inside you. He pumps slowly – once, twice – dragging a moan out of you as his fluids mix with yours.
“Not to worry, though,” Butcher continues, smirking again. “Not even nearly done yet.”
He pulls out as he flips you around, moving immediately to press you up once more against the wall. From behind, you can feel his breath tickle your ear as he leans down to tease you.
“And besides, you didn’t think I was just gonna let you walk off without squeezin’ the life outta me first, did ya, luv?”
As if to prove his own point, Butcher sinks into you again, making your walls clamp down over his cock. The stretch is so good that you see stars, and Butcher forces a hand between you and the wall to squeeze one of your tits as he growls.
“That’s it, luv. Good girl. Fuck- Lemme hear more of those fuckin’ sounds, yeah?”
“Fuck, I’m-”
How is he even still hard? It must be an effect of the whiskey, again, but you don’t have time to question beyond that, because you’re too focused on crying out every time Butcher slams into you. He pinches and rolls your hard nipple, other hand braced on the wall above you for leverage, and you feel an orgasm wash over you.
The next thirty seconds are a blur, and when you come to, you feel Butcher’s cock buried so deep that it hurts.
“Fuck me,” he groans. The sound makes you clench hard as he spills into you.
A few shallow thrusts later, he pulls back, letting you breathe without sacrificing the squeeze of your walls. You can feel trails of his fresh cum drip down, coating his cock as it’s still buried in you.
“Must want the whole fuckin’ bar to hear,” Butcher teases. His voice is right in your ear again, driving you crazy even though you just came. “Always knew you was a filthy cunt. Like it real rough, don’cha?”
He swirls his hips, making you claw at the wall and gasp silently as his cum gushes out of you. After you take a few seconds to breathe, you’re barely able to keep your voice steady.
“I’m gonna pretend that’s the whiskey talking, Butcher.”
“Why bother to give me the benefit of the doubt, luv?” He’s smiling again; you can feel it against the soft skin of your neck. “Maybe I think about you, just how you think of me.”
You don’t care much for his perceptive side. Butcher’s relationship with you is far from a typical one, or even particularly professional – but that doesn’t mean that you need him to know just how often you think of him when you’re alone. Or how close this whole encounter is to one of your fantasies.
“Whadda ya say we go one more round?” Butcher suggests. “Then I can let you get back to those other sad saps at the bar.”
Oh, god – you shouldn’t be in here right now. For all you know, the other customers that were out there have probably ransacked the bar by this point, stealing the bottles of top-shelf liquor while you’re busy, getting fucked into the wall by-
Your thoughts are interrupted by Butcher, who’s pulling your pants off the rest of the way from where they’ve dropped down to settle just over your ankles. Seeing him on his knees for you like that quickly erases all cognizant thought, and you’re swept back into the moment.
“Come on, luv. Lemme watch while that gorgeous cunt takes me.”
With his hands enveloping your hips, he guides you down onto the floor, careful to sweep away any stray pieces of glass. Once you’re on your back in front of him, Butcher pulls your hips closer, angling them up to meet his still-hard cock. He reaches down to take hold of himself, and slaps your puffy clit once with the head. You buck at the sensation, moaning softly, and Butcher whistles.
“Bloody hell. What a fuckin’ sight you are,” he hums.
“Butcher, please – can’t take anymore,” you whine.
“Sure you can, luv.”
You look up at him, still towering over you even like this, and swallow hard against the ache that still throbs through your core despite the exhaustion.
“Come on now,” Butcher says. “Be a good fuckin’ girl and scream for me.”
As he plunges in roughly yet again, your head falls back and you let out what might be the most desperate sound of your life. You aren’t sure if it’s desperation for more, or for Butcher to finally stop. When you writhe, so full of his cock that it hurts, your hips move closer to him, and you have your answer.
Lucky for your tired body, Butcher still somehow has the strength and stamina to hold you up while he slams into you, so that he hits the best angle with each thrust. It isn’t long at all before you feel something building; a feeling of lightness that starts to wash over the tension as Butcher’s cock brushes that spot deep inside of you, over and over. Your eyes squeeze shut, rolling back as you will yourself to fall over the edge.
“One more time for me, luv,” Butcher mutters, almost to himself. “Fuck, you feel fuckin’ amazing like this. I wanna feel your cunt squeeze me one more-”
You cut him off with a cry, lusty and full of the pleasure and pain that you feel in your muscles as you clench down over him, even tighter than before. Butcher moans with you and falls forward, caging you under his arms as he comes.
You’re a complete mess, but Butcher is really no better. He feels warm to the touch, even now, after all the time he’s spent working whatever is making him so damn insatiable out of his system. He still doesn’t pull out, and instead fucks his cum lazily, deeper into you. The overstimulation is tingly, and you move your hips so he hits different angles.
Exhausted from everything he’s put you through, you grab weakly at Butcher’s shirt when the aftershocks threaten to overtake you, looking for something to ground yourself with.
“Little minx,” Butcher laughs. He places a searing kiss under your jawline, nipping you slightly when he pulls away. “I bet you’re thinkin’ up all sorts of new deals the two of us cunts could make together, yeah? Well, I am open to transactin’ without use of legal tender, just to tell ya.”
The thought of selling information to Butcher for him to fuck you like this again is very tempting, but you keep your mouth shut. For now. Instead, you raise your eyebrows at him suspiciously.
“Offer’s on the table, luv.” Butcher cocks his head at the mess you’ve both made. “This was some nice stress relief, at the very least.”
“I guess you could call it that,” you agree, smiling and shaking your head slightly.
“Right. Well.” Butcher pushes himself up so he’s kneeling, dusts off his big hands, and straightens his clothes. “Same time next week, then. Just let me know if you wanna change any part of our… arrangement.”
You prop yourself up as Butcher stands fully, and he extends a - rather sticky - hand down to help you. You accept, feeling your cheeks heat up only the tiniest little bit when he pulls you upright effortlessly.
“Oh, and by the way,” Butcher says, not yet letting go. He smiles. “Like I said earlier, luv. I’m gonna need that whole bottle of whiskey.”